​Burial of a Dark Charger

​Looking from one end of a story to another is enlightening in most circumstances. Often the surprises on tap happen out of the blue ... or take a piece of forever to come around.

The bright, leafy day of October 11, 1827 came on, the wind like a music in the air and the foliage near perfect for a stage backdrop or a classic painting, the sort most of us know and appreciate. At this moment of introduction, nine year old George Secord of Alton, New Hampshire, was hurting, at pain's awareness, at self discovery. The toothache in his head was severe, a different kind of gnawing, wholly persistent, steady as drum rolls, as urgent, but the stage was set for monumental relief ... a string hung across the room in mid air, as if floating without support, until the ends were sought, one end tied to the latch of an open door and the other end, the manipulative end, the end of reason, mounted about a tooth in the mouth of young George.

I am a Woman

I am a woman, a beautiful woman. I have always taken pride in my delicate aquiline nose, thick lashes, pointed chin, lithe waist and a body that is a perfect mixture of thin and plump. A wash of dark hair hangs down my back and past my waist although sometimes I twisted it into a loose chignon just above my shoulders. The arched eyebrows and the sexy glossy lipstick make my face almost blemishless. I am wearing either an outfit with dazzling color and little beaded tassels on the sleeves, making me look very exotic or a tight dress that shows the cleft of my breasts, jutting out from my muscular youthful torso, or a combination of tight pants, high heels, and a silk blouse, the top buttons of which undone, exposing most conspicuously a thin gold chain to my breastbone, an incarnation of beautiful and confident woman.

Serenity

Serenity beckons just beyond the dales and Roses.
I can see it from here. . . Our preferred destination;
through terrain unfamiliar,
but somehow still the same.
Repose replaces panic
Repose replaces fear
Repose replaces blame
And serendipity takes us there
Is this utopia that’s created in my mind?
What if I touch the world with it;will it die from shame?

Lunch Encounters

It was always lunch, except at the beginning—we were introduced at breakfast, a media event arranged by a publicist. I can't remember whom her client was. None of my colleagues from my old job had attended, which disappointed me, of course, as I'd hoped to renew some longtime associations. I had been out of the loop for just a few months but had already begun feeling disenfranchised—a former editor who was now a freelance clinging precariously to previous connections.

Oracle Earth

﻿*Editor's Note: This story was previously published in Literary Yard.﻿​

Working as an archaeological researcher unveils discoveries mixed with complexities. I was summoned to this institution of learning as an instructor, teaching knowledge attained from data gathered relating to humankind’s historical pathway. Time and archaeology fuse solving mysteries of the past.

The year is 3080 CE, and since human conception changes are staggering and monumental, comparing past developed cultures has little resemblance to present-day social order. The learning institution I am assigned is Elysium School, located on an island in the South Pacific. It’s a magnificent place, offering isolation from the smoldering remnants of previous eras.

I greet new students: “My name is Christopher and I prefer to be addressed using this name. I am not a professor, and disfavor being referenced as such. I am here to learn, as well as teach. We are all students. I am fifty years old and have been an archaeological scientist since age twenty, and have traveled the globe sponsored by an Alliance to seek precise comprehension of the human species during its journey to this place in time, uncovering details associated with historical events, their causes and overall impact to be used as planning tools for the future.